Purpose
by Darthnachoz
Summary: A man comes to Calradia in search of a way to make his mark on the world, and finds the corruption and negligence of the governments in Calradia unacceptable, vowing to fix it, one way or the other, no matter the cost.


Stepping off the boat, I glance around at my surroundings, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of this city called Praven. Leaving home was hard, but there was nothing for me there, no opportunity as a simple wanderer there. The merchants were all part of guilds that only sold to their known networks, which I hope isn't the case here, although given what I've heard there is always work as a caravan guard.

It's a bit odd that the boat arrived to port at night, but I can't really think of a reason why this should bother me. Seeing a tavern on the other side of the docks, near to the market, I begin heading toward it, only to be forced to stop as three men walk out of a side street that appears to lead to a less affluent section of town.

They stop in front of me, the two lackeys brandishing wooden bludgeons of a rough quality, with the leader drawing a low-quality yet obviously well-cared for falchion, the blade about two and a half feet long, and accost me, asking me to handle over my coin purse. The ruffians have obviously assumed me an easy mark due to my attire and the time.

Normally, I would avoid fights, but I'm tired and haven't much money in the first place, as should be obvious by the lack of proper traveling attire and my armament of a mere butcher's knife. Of course, when I tell them this, they simply laugh and move to a more ready position, the leader staying in front of me while his lackeys flank to the sides, leaving me no illusions as to what they plan.

Brandishing my knife, I warn them that I have no problems with killing them where they stand if they should continue on their current path. Of course, it is too much to hope for a peasant thug to recognize the stance of a trained fighter, and he simply laughs at my warning while motioning his men forward. The one on my left, a rather thick-set man, leads the assault, moving toward me at a surprising speed considering his weight. I anticipate a heavy swing with no thought to recovery if he misses, and am not disappointed. I wish I had no need to use my blade, but the way he swung made his intent to kill me quite clear, and I responded in kind.

He falls, never to rise again, a gaping slash across his throat, rapidly expelling blood. His counterpart, a thinner man, hesitates, and I take him down with a quick slash across the lower stomach, rendering him a non-threat just in time to deal with the leader who may have had some training as his slash, while heavy, doesn't leave him wide open. I can't risk attempting to block him with my knife, that would only break my weapon. Instead, I pull the unexpected and step closer to him as he makes a second swing and use my free hand to block his arm, preventing him from gaining the necessary momentum to actually hurt me with his blade, and stick him in the elbow with my knife, resulting in him dropping the falchion.

Finally realizing that he is outmatched, and obviously trying to save his own skin, he turns and heads toward the street he came at me from. I frown and bend down to pick up his blade, taking a closer look at it as I do so. The blade is of a plain iron, with few nicks in the blade, leaving me to understand that the man rarely actually used the blade, instead relying on intimidation. A cheap, but effective weapon overall. I lay it over my shoulder on the flat of the blade, hoping the tavern owner won't have issue with the fact that I have no sheath for it, before remembering that the man I gutted still needs to be dealt with. I turn towards where he dropped to find that he managed to crawl a few feet before his injury truly stopped him, lying in a pool of his own blood and shivering heavily. It takes little effort to finish him, and is doesn't trouble my mind. He is beyond saving, and I see no point in allowing him to suffer. A quick snap later, and my body count on the continent of Calradia is already two, possibly three if the man who ran is unable to prevent infection. I shake my head at the thought, knowing that this is nothing new, even back home I had to deal with various lowlifes attempting to take what little money I had. Death no longer fazes me, it is a necessity, albeit an ugly one.

I feel even more tired as I again attempt to make my way to the tavern. As I reach the door I am hit by a question, something I should have observed earlier. There are no town guards in the area. Why are there no guards? I make the decision that that is a question to deal with tomorrow and head into the tavern for the night. The room is cheap, and the only one unfilled. Apparently there is supposed to be a tournament of arms in a few days, and it is open to all who wish to participate, although I have no intent to. There are too many things that can go wrong in a tournament, and I would rather not have to deal with the hassle that accidently braining a noble would cause. Instead I will see what odd jobs are available and inquire about the lack of guards patrolling at night.


End file.
